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“Ms. Moretti,you look exquisite this evening,” Jax said. “Michael said you were a phenomenal chef and a savvy businesswoman all rolled into one. But he didn’t say you were gorgeous on top of it. Well done, brother,” he said as he clapped Michael on the back.
“Siena, please?” I asked with a smile, trying to keep my glee at a minimum. “I’d like to think that since Michael is a friend, that perhaps that makes us more than just potential business associates.”
“Of course, of course. Your beauty must have struck my brain cells momentarily. I lost all train of thought.”
I laughed, reaching out to place my napkin in my lap as the waiter popped a bottle of champagne. The smooth sound of jazz carried lightly through the speakers.
“Your label, Siena,” Jax said as the waiter poured.
He lifted his glass. Michael and I followed suit. “To business and friendship,” he said, clinking his glass against ours. “Michael has told me quite a bit about your family’s winery. You work with your grandparents, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” I told him about my great-great-grandfather and our legacy, essentially taking him through a tour of the winery like I would if he was visiting.
The waiter rolled over a tray containing other bottles and additional glasses. “Which should we try first?” Jax asked.
I tapped three of our best sellers, telling him about the flavors, notes, and pairings that would go best with each. Jax ordered according to my suggestions—a salad made of spring greens, feta cheese, pomegranate seeds, avocado, and a champagne vinaigrette and freshly baked French bread to start. We chatted companionably, and the conversation focused on business and family. We discussed Moretti Vineyards, our wines, and what we would provide as a partner.
I asked Jax about the hotel and his history running it. He amused me with some funny stories about Michael, how they had become friends during rush week of their freshman year, and how they’d been inseparable since. He was easy to talk to, and the fact that he was so open and honest made it easy for me to just be myself. He was unintimidating and laid-back. I hadn’t been worried about meeting him, but I had told myself to be cautious since he was a friend of Michael’s.
I poured glasses of Guilty Pleasures, sending Michael a flirtatious wink.
“Mmm, I taste raspberry, I think,” Jax said.
“That’s right. Plum and raspberry to sweeten it. It goes perfectly with the steaks we’re having tonight.”
Our dinner of filet mignon and giant prawns served with fingerling potatoes and broccolini was divine. Jax complimented the Moretti wines again. Business was going extremely well, and I was proud of the job I had done. Michael seemed satisfied, as well.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, Mr. O’Halloran. A call for you,” the maître d’ said.
“I’ll just be a minute.” He wiped his mouth, excusing himself.
“This is going really well. Thank you. For everything,” I said, sitting back in my chair, sufficiently full.
“You’re most welcome. It is going extremely well. But I see what you’re doing.”
“What?” I played coy.
“Talking up the hotel. Asking questions about the customers and reviews.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, a smile creeping up.
He scooched closer to me, just a whisper away from me as he leaned in. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice was husky and hungry. “Doing everything you can to make me agree to change hotel plans.”
“So what if I’m taking an interest in this hotel, Michael? It’s not fake. I’m genuinely taken with this place. If you opened your mind enough to see what I do, then you would realize that I’m right.”
“When did I say you were wrong?” he challenged. I could feel his hand on his knee, right next to mine.
I swallowed, feeling a sense of shame. And a tinge of desire. “You didn’t.”
“Exactly. So why the incessant need to ask these inane questions, flirt with Jax, inflate his already huge ego, and try to make me jealous?”
“My questions aren’t inane. They’re legitimate . . .”—my eyes grew wide with shock—"Jealous? You’rejealous?”
Michael cleared his throat as his hand snuck over to the soft spot under my knee. “I saidtrying. I’m not jealous, Siena.” He stared into my eyes.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling parched. “Oh.”
“I know how you feel about me.” His hand slid up the inside of my thigh, under my skirt, and right between my legs where I was already hot and wet. “I canfeelhow you feel about me.” I squirmed under his touch, my eyes boring into his, begging him to slip underneath my panty line and touch me, please me.
